


(a bird doesn't count)

by bs13



Category: Rosewood (TV)
Genre: F/F, more izwood + babies bc how can i resist??, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: Everyone keeps giving Pippy advice on how to raise her baby. (It's driving her a little mad.)





	(a bird doesn't count)

**Author's Note:**

> i got an anonymous ask requesting izwood + "everyone keeps giving your character advice on baby care and it’s driving them a little mad" from a parenting/baby prompt list. i LOVED writing this!! of course it's still rough and much less developed than i would have liked, but i wrote it pretty quick. i have another baby fic to post later...once my computer stops being rude...
> 
> (also my quotation marks are all off?? idk what is wrong)

Daisie Villa is a nice person. A little energetic, a little wild, but nice.

But, well-meaning as Daisie is, Pippy doesn’t understand why Daisie is _here_ , in Pippy’s house, giving her advice about what to feed her baby. Annalise is here too, but she’s been talking to TMI in the other room about a case; Daisie, on the other hand, has made herself quite at home right next to Pippy at the kitchen table.

At first she stays quiet, watching as Pippy spoons food into Beaumont’s mouth, mostly smiling endearingly at him like everyone does. (He just has that effect). But eventually she studies the Gerber label—admittedly, a strange flavored goop of chicken and rice—and frowns.

“You know, I always thought babies shouldn’t eat these weird manufactured things,” Daisie says. “Have you tried giving him beans?”

"Beans?“ Pippy echoes. “No, I don’t think so.”

"See, that’s all he needs! Frijoles y arroz para ti, mijo, eh?“ Daisie says with a click of her tongue, squeezing Beaumont’s cheeks. "Just mash up normal foods really well and give them to him.”

"We do give him other food,“ Pippy says, oddly defensive; she doesn’t want to assume Daisie thinks she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but also she doesn’t want to let the random (and unsolicited advice) bother her without saying anything. "We just don’t give him beans.”

"I used to give Annalise beans all the time. It made her a little gassy. But she was okay,“ Daisie says, unbothered by the defensive edge to Pippy’s voice. "Is he still breastfed? You have to breastfeed him as long as possible, trust me. I kept feeding Annalise until she was a year old…how old is he now?”

"He’s eight months,“ Pippy answers. "And he’s actually been using a bottle for a while now.”

“Ay, what a shame,” Daisie sighs. “Oh well. At least he looks healthy.”

Pippy furrows her brow. “He is healthy, actually. And very happy too.”

"Of course he is, he’s so chubby,“ Daisie coos. "Isn’t that right papas? You’re very chubby?”

Annalise and TMI finally come out of the living room, Annalise with a grim look on her face. “Ma, let’s go. We need to go talk to Rosie,” she says. “TMI’s going to tag along.”

“Wait, what happened?” Pippy asks. “You’re not sending my wife into anything dangerous, are you? ‘Cause she’s not allowed to die until I’m ready to.”

"Aw, babe, that’s sort of sweet,“ TMI says, beaming even when Annalise looks between the two of them weirdly. "And also sort of morbid.”

"Well I’m just going to drop her off at the lab, so don’t worry,“ Annalise says, grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter. "And Ma, please don’t lecture Pippy on baby food. We could hear you all the way from the living room.”

"Lecturing, who’s lecturing? I’m just giving her advice! You’re so dramatic,“ Daisie says as she and Annalise walk out, reaching over to pinch Annalise’s cheek. "My daughter the dramatica. So when are you and Rosie going to give me grandkids?”

" _Ma_."

Their voices fade away as they leave. TMI sighs.

"Okay, yeah, they’re going to notice if I don’t go too,” she says regretfully. “I know we said we wanted to have a movie night, but…rain check?”

“Rain check,” Pippy agrees, kissing at the edge of TMI’s mouth when she ducks down by them to fix Beau’s bib. “You go help Rosie. Beau and I will be just fine on our own.”

"I’ll be back as soon as possible,“ TMI promises, grabbing her coat and moving to follow. She stops halfway out the room, turning to regard Pippy curiously. “Wait. What was Daisie saying?”

Pippy waves her off, flippant in one gesture. “Eh, nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

.

.

.

“You know, I’m not sure it’s safe to just…have him in the office,” TMI says.

“Hmm?” Pippy looks up from her microscope to see what TMI is talking about, but it’s just about Beau. 

It’s true that he doesn’t have a lot of space and there is a lot of expensive equipment around him, but all he’s doing is kicking forward in his walker. It’s a miracle he even let himself be put in there; lately all he’s wanted to do is crawl.

“Beau,” TMI clarifies unnecessarily. “What if something falls?”

"Everything’s pretty secure,“ Pippy says, but she frowns. "You’re right. Should I move him to my mom’s office? That would be safer.”

"You know, if we hired a babysitter this would work out better,“ TMI says, already plucking Beau out of his walker.

"With what money?” Pippy scoffs. “Rosie needs to come through with a raise first.”

TMI crinkles her nose. “You’re right. Kids are expensive,” she says, hoisting Beau up on her hip. “Can you get the walker?”

"Yeah, just give me a minute,“ Pippy says, refocusing her telescope.

She’s so lost in her work that she doesn’t notice when Mitchie comes up. At least, not until he cheerfully calls,

"Hey Pippy!”

Pippy nearly breaks the glass slide she’s taking out. “Mitchie, can you quit doing that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

"Whoa, sorry,” Mitchie says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just came by to get your tox results. I know you said you were taking over for TMI, so…”

“Oh yeah,” Pippy says, reaching past him to TMI’s desk. “Here it is.”

Mitchie takes the papers but doesn’t move to leave, instead lingering by the desk, eyeing the walker. "So you guys brought little Rosie today, huh? Nice.”

"Ugh, don’t call him little Rosie. Rosie doesn’t need anything else to inflate his ego.“ Pippy rolls her eyes.

"Why not? It’s cute,” Mitchie says. “Where’s that little guy anyway?”

“With TMI.” Pippy slips a different glass slide under the microscope for examination, pausing when she realizes Mitchie still isn’t leaving. “You know, I like to work alone, so…”

“Oh! Right, yeah, my bad.” Mitchie takes a step back. “But hey, I’ve been researching babies a lot lately, since we’re all basically family and I’m little Rosie’s uncle now—”

“Um,” Pippy blinks, “say that again?”

Mitchie ignores her. “—and I was wondering how your insurance is going? Because I know a guy and if you guys are struggling, he can get me a great deal. And obviously you guys have started a college fund, right? I don’t see why you wouldn’t, but I figured I’d ask just in case.”

“College—? Look, Mitchie, I’m busy right now,” Pippy says. “We can revisit the college fund we don’t have later, okay?”

“You don’t have a college fund yet? Well you have to get on that! If you guys decide to have another kid it will be much harder to start setting aside money in a couple years. Plus, the stock market is just—”

“Mitchie,” Pippy cuts him off. “How many kids do you have?”

Mitchie stops. “Uh. None? But I do have a bird, if that counts.”

“It doesn’t. Now please come back to me when you _do_ have a kid, because then maybe I’d actually trust your input,” Pippy says, turning back around to her microscope.

“Oh I don’t know, I don’t really see myself as being a father. A cool uncle, on the other hand…”

Pippy grimaces. “We are going to revisit that uncle thing later,” she says. “But can you please let me do my job now?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry Pippy, I just get overexcited, you know how it is,” Mitchie laughs sheepishly.

“Right. Mitchie?”

“Yeah?”

"Take Beau’s walker over to TMI for me, would you?“

.

.

.

TMI’s mom leaves them a voicemail about Beau.

(Pippy deletes it before TMI can hear it too.)

.

.

.

"Beaumont sure moves quickly,” Donna says, eyebrow raised as she watches Beau from the kitchen table.

“Mm,” Pippy hums in agreement, sipping from her mug. “He’s very energetic.”

It’s a lazy Sunday today, having her mom over for breakfast. TMI is chasing Beau around the carpet, making sure that he doesn’t crash into the living room table or stick things into his mouth, and Pippy and Donna watch and drink coffee. It’s one of Pippy’s favorite things to do.

"You two should consider removing the carpet,“ Donna says after a moment. "Beau needs to use his walker more.”

“He uses it all the time,” Pippy says. “At work.”

“That’s no place for a baby.” Donna swirls another spoonful of sugar into her cup nonchalantly, unaware that beside her, Pippy is biting her tongue as to not say something rude. “He needs to start building those leg muscles more. He doesn’t even crawl properly.”

“He crawls just fine,” Pippy retorts defensively. “And he’s strong, too. He’ll be walking in no time.”

Donna nods. “He’s so big already,” she says. “You’ll be up to your heads with that boy. I can tell.”

As if on cue, Beau decides to try and something into his mouth at that very moment.

“Beau! Beau, I saw that. Spit it out. Spit—” TMI sticks her finger into Beau’s mouth and fishes out a button. “I vacuumed! How do you still find things even when I vacuum?”

Donna shakes her head knowingly. “You should try limiting his crawling time,” she says. “Lord knows you and your brother gave me just as much trouble.”

“He’s young,” Pippy says instead of saying some much more choice like _I’ll raise my son how I want_. She knows, deep down, that her mother means well; but right now, at a time when she feels a little overwhelmed at raising a baby, it’s not as helpful as one might think.

(And besides, they’re doing pretty well, if she says so herself.)

.

.

.

 

Pippy keeps her thoughts bottled up for another week.

But it’s not until after a long, stressful night that ends with them finally getting Beau to sleep after three hours that Pippy feels angry hot tears prick at her eyes and she says,

“T, do you think we’re doing something wrong?”

TMI rolls over, half on her way to sleep already, but alert enough to pick up on the shaky edge to Pippy’s voice. “What do you mean?” she asks, quiet so they don’t wake up Beau, whose crib stands just a few feet away from their bed.

“Everyone keeps giving me advice on what to do and how to raise Beau and I’m tired,” Pippy says. “I’m tired that they think we need it.”

“We do,” TMI yawns. “They’re just trying to help, Pippy.”

“I know.” Pippy doesn’t look over at TMI, focusing instead on the ceiling, blurry as it is through her frustrated tears. “But it also feels like they’re saying we’re not good enough. And maybe we’re not.”

“Hey.” TMI slings her arm around Pippy’s waist, the weight warm and comforting, as she nudges her head against Pippy’s shoulder. “Don’t compare yourself to your mother. Or Villa’s mother. We’re definitely good enough for Beau because we love him and he loves us and that’s all we need.”

“You don’t think I’m overreacting?”

“You always overreact,” TMI says, “but it’s okay. It’s one of the things I love about you. And I know you’re just trying to protect everyone you love, but it’s okay to tell your mom you don’t need advice. She’ll understand.”

“Have you met my mother? Meddling is her middle name,” Pippy snorts. “She’ll keep on giving us advice up until Beau’s grown, trust me. And don’t get me started on Daisie, or Mitchie—”

“Mitchie doesn’t even _have_ kids.”

“That’s what I said!”

TMI laughs into Pippy’s skin. “They love him as much as we do,” she says. “It’s sort of nice when you think about it.”

“It’s also been sort of annoying,” Pippy says, but she softens anyway, smoothing her hand over TMI’s back. “But you’re right. I’m too hung up on my own parenting skills to see that everyone’s just trying to help me out.”

“You’re doing just fine on your own, if you ask me,” TMI says drowsily, and when Pippy looks at her, her eyes are closed. “You’re the best mommy. Maybe I should get your mom to help me out instead.”

"Good idea,“ Pippy says, smiling when TMI just hums in sleepy agreement. "I’ll redirect the complaints your way.”  
.

.

.

(Eventually Pippy learns to appreciate the advice. But that’s not until much later, once they have their second baby on the way, because God knows how much she needs it then.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me over on tumblr at [pippytmi](https://pippytmi.tumblr.com/) ! i love getting prompts :D


End file.
